


Out of Armor

by Isis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Jaime Lannister Lives, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: Brienne dresses for a feast at Winterfell.





	Out of Armor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neosaiyanangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neosaiyanangel/gifts).

> "Blue is a good color on you, my lady. It goes well with your eyes." (Jaime to Brienne, _A Storm of Swords_)

It was, thought Brienne grimly, one of the hardest battles she’d ever fought. She was out of her depth, on completely unfamiliar ground. She should have called for assistance, she knew; to be honest, she probably should have arranged for it ahead of time. 

Gritting her teeth, she tried one more time to fasten the stupid lacing of her stupid gown behind her broad back – and to her surprise, managed to loop the cord around the tiny hook where it belonged. “Hah! Got you!”

“Is everything all right?” Jaime’s voice came faintly from behind the thick wooden door.

“Fine! I’m fine!” She looked at her reflection in the polished bronze sheet that she’d had a servant bring up to their rooms, and winced. The reflection was that of a stranger. But she had to admit that Sansa had chosen well for her. When Brienne had said she wanted to put aside her armor for this celebratory feast, Sansa had been thoughtful and kind. She had given her a bolt of deep blue cloth and the use of her own dressmaker, and suggested a style that was simple and elegant and unfussy. The result had been, thought Brienne, astonishing, even to her untutored eye. It almost looked like a knight’s tunic that had been lengthened and softened into a lady’s gown. 

As she moved cautiously before the mirror, she appreciated the comfort of the loose sleeves and the wide-cut skirt that would allow her to run if she needed. Though it would probably look strange if she buckled her sword-belt across her hips. And that lacing, ugh! 

Jaime knocked on the door. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Fine. I told you.”

“It’s not like you to spend so much time on your appearance. It hardly matters here at Winterfell, after all. Everyone knows you.” His voice softened. “And I like you as you are, sweet Ser Brienne.”

“Thank you so very much, Jaime, for telling me this.” It was a good thing he was behind a door and couldn’t see her rolling her eyes. But still, she smoothed down her skirt nervously, and felt the lack of her sword almost as though its absence had weight. What if he thought she looked ridiculous? She remembered the horrible pink gown Qyburn had made her wear. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“If you don’t come out now, we’ll be late. And everyone will watch us come into the hall, and I know how you dislike –”

“Fine, fine, I’m coming!” She gave her reflection one more anxious look, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Jaime’s face was worth all the effort it had taken to do up the lacing. “You,” he said. “That.”

She could feel herself blushing. “It’s only that we’re marking the return of spring,” she said. “The Six Kingdoms are at peace, now, and the North is as well. Leathers and mail seemed out of place.”

“Ah,” he said. He continued to stare at her.

“All right, this was a stupid idea,” she said. “I can change. We’ll be late, though.”

“A pity,” he said roughly. He stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and pulled her into his arms.

“But you said, and we will, no, if you keep doing – oh!” She closed her eyes and lifted her chin as his lips traced a path from the edge of her jaw, down her neck, toward her collarbone. She felt his hand move across her back to the lacing, and moved away in alarm. “No, don’t touch that, it took ages to get it fastened!”

“I’ll do it up again,” Jaime promised hoarsely. His fingers plucked at the cord, undoing all her hard work. “Later.”

“But the feast –”

He bore her to the bed. “You’re all the feast I need.”

As it turned out, they missed the feast entirely. Neither of them minded.


End file.
